+Æmi.+ He is a witch, a thief, That has stol'n all my honours. His smooth visage Seem'd like a sea becalm'd or a safe harbour, Where love might ride securely, but was found A dangerous quick-sand, wherein are perish'd My hopes and fortunes, by no art or engine To be weigh'd up again. +Lio.+ Instruct me how? +Æmi.+ Teach me the way then, that I may relate My own ill story with as great a boldness As I did first conceive, and after act it. What wicked error led my wand'ring thoughts To gaze on his false beauty, that has prov'd The fatal minute of my mind's first ruin? Shall I be brief? +Lio.+ What else? +Æmi.+ How can I speak, Or plead with hope, that have so bad a cause! +Lio.+ You torture me too much: the fear of evil Is worse than the event. +Æmi.+ Then, though my heart Abhor the memory, I'll tell it out.-- The boy I mentioned (whatever power Did lay on me so sad a punishment) I did behold him with a lustful eye, And, which is the perfection of sin, Did woo him to my will. +Lio.+ Well, what of that? You are not the first offender in that kind. +Æmi.+ My suit no sooner ended, but came in My jealous husband. +Lio.+ That was something indeed! +Æmi.+ Who overheard us all. +Lio.+ A shrewd mischance! +Æmi.+ Judge with what countenance he did behold me, Or I view him, that had so great a guilt Hang on my brow. My looks and hot desire Both fell together; whilst he, big with anger, And swol'n high with revenge, hastes from my presence, Only to study how to inflict some torture, Which I stay to expect: and here you see The suffering object of his cruelty. +Lio.+ Methinks it were an easy thing for one That were ingenious, to retort all On his own head, and make him ask forgiveness. +Æmi.+ That would be a scene indeed! +Lio.+ I have been fortunate In such turns in my days. +Æmi.+ Could you do this, I'd swear you had more wit than Mercury, Or his son Autolycus[348] that was able To change black into white. +Lio.+ Do not despair: I have a genius was ne'er false to me; If he should fail me now in these extremes, I would not only wonder, but renounce him: He tells me, something may be done. Be rul'd, And if I plot not so, to make all hit, Then you shall take the mortgage of my wit. +Æmi.+ However, sir, you speak comfortably. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ +Aurelio+ _above_; +Duke+ _and_ +Leonardo+ [_pass_] _over the stage_. +Aur.+ Good morrow, gentlemen. What, you are for the feast, I perceive. +Duke.+ Master Aurelio, good morrow to you. Whose chamber's that, I pray? +Aur.+ My own, sir, now; I thank ill fortune and a good wife. +Duke.+ What! are you married, and your friends not pre-acquainted? This will be construed amongst them.